The Porcelain King
by Carolare Scarletus
Summary: There was always something wickedly sinister about the old ruling family of Venice Italy. Shrouded by darkness and reigning with an iron hand, no one suspected that anything wrong, that is, until they all started to disappear. When Graham Montague travels abroad in search for answers, he stumbles upon the realization that nothing is as it seems.


**Important:** Also written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments); Transfiguration; Gryffindor; Task: Write about someone going through a change (minor or major, physically or mentally is completely up to you).

 **House:** Slytherin

 **Category:** Short

 **Prompts** : [First Line] As a child, he'd been told dolls were for girls.

 **Word count: 1901** (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Entry and Title)

 **Warning:** This is an AU (Alternate Universe) piece

 **Characters:** Graham Montague; Tom Riddle

 **Summary:** There was always something wickedly sinister about the old ruling family of Venice Italy. Shrouded by darkness and reigning with an iron hand, no one suspected that anything wrong, that is, until they all started to disappear. When Graham Montague travels abroad in search for answers, he stumbles upon the realization that nothing is as it seems. A mysterious tune used to haunt his dreams; now, he's come to play as a puppet of an evil master.

 **Author's Note:** First and foremost, thank you Kristina and Alexa for going over this for me. Couldn't have done it without y'all. I loved how this piece turned out, something I spent the last two weeks or so trying to live up to. Dark is my specialty, but this was kicking my butt with its complexity. Anyway, I'll leave y'all to read :)

 _As always, enjoy_

-Carolare Scarletus

~-* **The Porcelain King** *-~

As a child, he'd been told dolls were for girls. The fact the beauty of the porcelain beings couldn't be achieved by a mere mortal was absurd. Everything about the feminine doll was as appealing as it was sinful; from their perfectly curled hair, white skin, the soft insinuation of red in their cheeks, he found unrequited beauty in them, especially their trapped composure and charcoal eyes. Brought up by religious family, Graham Montague had everything going for him. His family was located around the central circle of Venice Italy, as they'd been for hundreds of years, and collecting dolls was considered an unwanted profession of evil. At one time, they'd ruled the sprawling city, building their vast empire until a grand misfortune had fallen upon them, enabling them weak and helpless to the pull of greed. Some say they became a soul deprived from its ways, others swore it was within their magic that equated to their darkness. They were reduced to ridicule and disgrace, trapped forever in their family dwelling in the heart of the city that they once loved. Evil had corrupted their family and Montague was determined to figure out what happened, even if it killed him.

It was in the midst of a drunken interlude that he appeared, seemingly from thin air. Masked by the shadows of the midnight sky, Graham slipped out of sight and made his way towards the nearest available avenue. Dozens of Venetians had gathered in the already unquestionably tight streets of Venice. The lingering scent of aged wine was nauseating, but no more nauseating than the effects of Apparition and the grotesque music that weaved through the streets. Staggering, the monarch tried to maneuver through the packed streets. Individuals dressed in the finest attire and masks constantly bumped into him. Their celebrations had been in full swing since the start of the week, and their spirits had not diminished in the slightest. Noise sounded from all directions, filling the already lively atmosphere of the evening with never-ending delight and fun. Though twilight was approaching, throngs of people filled the decorative, winding streets of the infamous floating city. At the heart of it all was a single figure holding what looked like a music box.

Graham locked eyes with the mysterious figure, becoming enthralled by the strange melody come from their box. Before he knew it, he was chasing after them.

When he came to a intersection, the glowing of his wand indicated to take a right, to which he did. Graham turned the sharp corner at the ending of the main walkway. As he did, he couldn't keep his thoughts at bay. Knowing he was about to go back to his family home did nothing to assuage the burning urge to stop and turn around in his tracks but the idea was in every right intolerable. He didn't want to meet him; but, the promises of something more, something deeper was all too tempting. The abrupt urgency to seek this through proved to be more powerful than even the deadliest of charms or spells. Perhaps his end goal was truly more important that the realization of having to be in close proximity with something that was hated so much.

Night was beginning to fall far too rapidly for his liking. The Muggles may not be aware of what lurks in the darkness but it did not mean the man was oblivious as well. Soon, he suspected, the streets of Venice would be filled with Vampires, Fairies, and any other mythological creatures that succeeded to keep themselves hidden from their inquisitive eyes. Perfectly blended into the delicate web of Muggle society, they co-existed peacefully; hence, they have not been detected. Not that they would notice them. Oh, how he wished he could do the same! With each step, each turn of the corner, he drew more and more attention to himself. He was not dressed in the attire appropriate for the occasion, nor did he wear a beautifully decorative mask.

He was completely unprepared!

Graham followed obediently behind the escort of night. He ran his fingers up and down the stone walls of the hallway, admiring the age and beauty of the fallen building. Once upon a time, this building was filled with what he guessed was the pitter patter of tiny feet, of laughter, and love. A family had once lived within these walls, filling it with memories that failed the test of time. Now, the only thing that remained was the aching history of what this building once held. The barren landscape reflected the very thing that he had been dealing with for the past seven years: no chance of experiencing the same, wondrous feeling that came with having a family, of his wife glowing as she rubbed her swollen stomach, of playing with his children. They had tried so hard to achieve the one of the few goals they set out to accomplish before their end, a goal that unfortunately wouldn't be met if he couldn't get help for his wife before death stole her from him.

The beautifully designed building turned decrepit; the once flowering memories faded, leaving behind nothing but rust and ruin. Graham found the secret entrance, entered, and scaled the winding staircase of the servant's quarters until he came out and into a large corridor. From there, everything was eerily quiet. As he walked, he caught the portraits, their faces masked behind layers of dust, each mocking him like theatrical guises. The door creaked open, revealing nothing but dust.

In the corner of the badly aged room, there resided a bench, just a simple bench with no less importance than a doorknob, or crooked nail- If only it hadn't been for the item which was placed to delicately on top, Graham would've given up. Her clothes, which in the past must have been woven with so much love, were tattered, tarnished from all their beauty with rot, filth. Plaid, blue and red now dyed blue, poor yellow wellies worn and their previous yellow coating now peeling off. Cracked porcelain skin, broken from a lack of care and cherry red lips which had long since run dry of all their colour- It was saddening, heartbreaking to be bearing witness to such a sight.

At least, it might have been, had the eyes not been so clear, open and wide without so much of a blemish. It was staring at him, endlessly, bottomlessly until the doll slumped down in its chair and he jumped back. Laughter began to play like a murderous tune, building to a horrendous crescendo of akin to dark circus tunes.

Whatever love had seeped into the scratched old porcelain doll had leached out into the floor. At first his heart had thumped, it looked so much like a baby in the frosted leaf litter. But when he touched it with his fingertips the surface was unyielding, more like a teapot than skin. As the shock began to ebb a thought occurred to him, it could be something for mourning. Something that was once so cherished so weathered and beaten. He raised it into the dappled light and it's head lolled, almost separating from the partially digested fabric body, still though there were traces of lace. After the long trudge home, Graham covered the doll, poured on the collection of bright liquid of autumnal leaves, before dropping it onto the table over and over until it was positioned like a collapsed corpse. That is, before it moved. He blanched, staring fixedly at the doll. With one hand clasped to his mouth he sank to the floor.

And, that was when the tapping began….

 _Tap, tap, tap_

...until it became too much and Graham took his wand out of its hoister and began blasting spells all around the room. More laughter rose from the darkened corners of the room until a single cloaked figure came into view. They, too, wore battered clothing with impressive holes.

Graham sat perfectly still, his eyes glued to the spot where the dangerous man had once stood. He didn't notice the looming figure that stood in the corner of the room, nor did he recognize the abominable tune coming from their music box. The figure was skeletal. With slender arms, tottering legs, and a small torso, he was the personification of a decaying corpse. The emancipated being removed himself from the dark and coldness of the wall, walking right into the arms of the light. Night had finally engulfed the magical world of Venice like an all-consuming flame. No longer did light reach every ethereal corner, inviting all that prospered in its depths to come out and play.

Stricken by sudden panic, Graham sat still, knowing if he screamed, the shadow would take him. He watched as the slender being make his way slowly down the unevenly paved aisle of the room. He paid no mind the world outside. People blurred by, noises erupted vivaciously from all directions, but he still didn't give it his uninvited attention. Something wooden clicked against the decayed pathway. The man walked with a limp and was carrying a cane that seemed far too fragile to take the weight of his cadaverous body. As he approached, the man could just barely make out his facial features. Age lines and blemishes covered his pale face. But, something was quite off about his eyes. They were as murky as a disturbed lake.

"What is wrong, Montague?" the cloaked figure said, his voice singed with amusement as he appeared out of nowhere. It was deep and blessedly dull. "I could not help but to wonder that you do not like my collection. Then I thought to myself, that it is impossible. Everyone likes dolls."

"Get away from me!" Graham croaked, trying to escape the powerful old of the doll's magic. The tightly coiled ribbon of velvet wound itself around his torso, rendering him breathless.

He let out a exaggerated groan.

"When I first saw you wandering the streets as a child, I thought to myself," the puppeteer slowly made his way over to where Graham was slouched on the floor, his eyes glowing a menacing red as he spoke, "that, maybe if you got to know them, perhaps they would not be so frightening."

"You," he hissed, the memory of the cloaked figure emerging from his long-forgotten past. "Stay away from me!"

The man didn't relent; in fact, his resistance spurred him on.

The hood of his cloak dropped forward as if he was looking at something on Graham's person. There, on his index finger, was a family ring. After all this time, he'd been after him and Graham had been too blind to see it. His reaper seemed to sense the realization.

"London bridge," the cloaked figure began, the words drowning out Graham's own murderous scream as they erupted from deep inside his chest.," is falling down. Falling down, falling down. My fair lady."

The figure glided toward him, and just as he was about to let out another deafening scream, something grabbed onto his tongue and everything went dark.

After what felt like forever enrobed in darkness, light filtered through, revealing his altered reflection. All he could seem to focus on were the strings attached to his arms and the insidious grin upon his lips. A living doll, forever condemned to dance for his puppet master.


End file.
